Moor Music Festival, 21-22 July - Jon Gomm relates his tales of frivolity, music and sleep-deprivation

Last year Moor Music festival was pretty damn good. This year it was amazing. Here follows the story of my weekend.

Driving through Ilkley is a nightmare. They should flatten it and make it into a massive motorway, or invent hover cars. Trudging slowly up to Ilkley Moor in my tour-weary vauxhall, laden with mates, tents and my gig gear, suddenly the breathtaking vista that is the Moor Music site sweeps into you, blowing away the exhaust fumes, and makes you understand why people paint landscapes.

After pitching my tent, nicknamed "viagra" (it went up reluctantly but then stood firm for the whole weekend), I went to see what was doing. We had three stages - The MoorLive Stage for bands, The Homespun Tent for dance stuff, and The Earl Hickey Stage for acoustic people. Also a bar with DJs, a chill-out tent which showed films on a big screen in the evenings, and various food outlets and cool stalls.

Two gentle introductions to the weekend came in the shape of a can of Skol and Ben Wetherill, whose eerie songs floated across the moor like Bronte's mist in Wuthering Heights, his voice delicate as a spider's web, and as strong in its unique way. Cardboard Cowboy were on soon after on the Live stage, and set about moving our asses in new and surprising ways. "You don't have to cry" reveals singer Dave in his throaty drawl. No-one is crying Dave. We love it. It's ramshackle, it's friendly, it's almost country. Back in acoustic-land Danny Pig was soon launching his emotive tunes at an eager crowd and providing another musical highlight of the festival, while his faithful electronic sidekick laid down grooves which could only be described as groovy. (Although not strictly acoustic. What a cheater.)

Owing to a complaint from a resident (a sheep, presumably) all loudness stopped at midnight, but in some ways this was where the festival really kicked in. Everybody seemed to know everybody else, or at least think they did. Perhaps it was because every artist booked for every stage was from Yorkshire, but whatever it was we were a thousand-strong family by half-past one. The music continued in the bar, totally unplugged, seemingly for hours - from looking at the audience you'd think there was a kilowatt PA blasting out their personal favourite song. Meanwhile in the film tent a huge crowd watched in hushed awe and jaw-slackened ecstasy as the classic tale of mystery and adventure that is The Goonies played out before their glistening eyes.

I was onstage early the next day, so I wanted to get some sleep. Which was impossible, as the campsite was one huge all-night party, the zenith of which was two upstanding and well-known Leeds citizens ritually burning nearly all of their clothes. The messiness raged til dawn. How people stay awake that long is a mystery to me. Honest.

Morning. Sun. Hot. Quick beer for breakfast and then off to soundcheck. As always the MoorLive stage was running with incredible efficiency thanks to Emma McPartlan, one of Leeds' great unsung gig-heroes.

Gary Stewart and his band were before me. Their consummate folk-plus sound is at least in part down to his perfectionist attitude: he expects the best from his band, and they give it to him.

Now, I play a LOT of gigs. Sometimes to a lot of people. And I never get nervous. However, something about realising that I would know so many people in the audience, and that the people I didn't know would be waiting for me, having heard all the nonsense-hype, and be expecting something decent… I was quite scared. The shaking from sleep-deprivation was an added bonus. I was welcomed to the stage with a heckle immediately: "Like the new outfit!" (I wear the same clothes all the time. Not the SAME ones, they just look the same). However, revenge is now mine: Ben from Grasshopper, you are a total spanner. I splurged in that nervous way headlong into my first song - an old favourite - and the ample crowd kindly went berserk. That's mates for you. "Cheers, but that would have been a lot better if you f**kers hadn't kept me awake all night" I announced. Just to break the ice, like. The remainder of the set is a blur, which is often a good sign, so I assume it went OK.

The Eclectic Electric (formerly Solo) notched up the energy: northern-rock-with-nitro-boost, and top songs. Plus they closed with a cover of "My Sharona", which I recognised from the first bar, which is only drums, so it must have been pretty damn good.

More beers and socializing with my scenester celeb VIP showbiz mates, then a great double bill lured me back to the acoustic stage: firstly Jordan Senior, who was actually in charge of that stage, which was ace, so well done lad! His catchy songs, touching but whimsical lyrics, superb harp playing and somehow off-hand yet intense delivery add up to a great performance. Then a newcomer to the Leeds scene but a friend of mine: the crazed, beat-boxing, bird-noising, funkoustickery of L-Mo. He won't be everyone's cup of tea, but that won't bother him: his music is packed with the joy that only comes from not giving a sh*t.

Back to the live stage, and to stumble upon my musical pinnacle of the festival. Imagine Jim Morrison, but with the actual talent of Robert Plant, with the looks of a prettier Jeff Buckley, and you have Dodge from Vatican Jet. VJ delivered a MASSIVE set of power, sleaze and beauty, despite accidentally leaving nearly all their gear at home (but they brought the van! Was it empty? Didn't they notice? Bizarre) and having to borrow guitars from everyone else. Their own material is great, but their covers of Johnny Kidd and the Pirates' "Shakin All Over", and especially Air's "Sexy Boy" are indelibly engraved upon my memory. In a nutshell: I'm not gay, but I would do Vatican Jet.

Remaining highlights included: Mickey P. Kerr's storming folk-rap-comedy-poetry set (including the pant-wetting "I Like Swearing"); noise-laden, historically-informative and "epic" (i.e. long) songs from the brilliant I Like Trains; and the darkly surreal, sinister and bewitching Devils Jukebox, who, for those who can't afford to buy LSD, are a great alternative.

There was something great about watching a film on top of Ilkley Moor so I tottered off to see the last bit of Anchorman (surprisingly funny) and then did some other stuff probably, who knows. At some point I presumably went to sleep, although my only evidence for this was that I woke up some time later. The next morning I had to skidaddle off to another festival, in another field on another spectacular English hillside, but I was sad to leave - everyone had that end-of-play gloominess when you wish something wasn't going to stop.

Big thanks must go to The Project for organising a real festival with no corporate sponsors, no superstars, but an amazing atmosphere and amazing music.

Just one last shot across the bows - pretty much all the bands who played Moor Music are "unsigned". Yet they were all ace. But aren't famous bands better? Why else would they be famous and have major record deals? Well maybe "unsigned" doesn't mean "uncomplete", "unfinished" or "unworthy". Maybe it means "unfettered", "unconstrained", "unspoilt". Maybe.

Also: Ben from Grasshopper - I love you really!

If you like festivals, then you love Moor Music. Next year, people.